"Owned by a wealthy mining family north of Copper Ridge."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Do they have children?"
She hesitated.
"Not that I knew of."
Then her expression changed.
"Although I heard the wife adopted a little girl last year."
The younger woman gripped the edge of the table.
Her face went white.
The widow immediately regretted speaking so abruptly.
"Now, hold on. That doesn't prove anything."
But the younger woman was already crying.
"A girl?"
The widow nodded carefully.
"That's what I heard."
"How old?"
"I don't know."
The younger woman turned toward me.
Her eyes were desperate.
"Please."
I knew what she wanted.
She wanted me to ride north immediately.
She wanted me to bring her daughter home.
And some part of me wanted to do exactly that.
But I looked at the older woman.
She was staring at the paper.
Her expression was different.
Not less desperate.
Simply more controlled.
"What about my son?" she asked.
I didn't have an answer.
And the silence that followed was worse than anything I could have said.
That afternoon, the two husbands came to the stagehouse.
They arrived with the red-mustached deputy and another man carrying a shotgun.
I saw them from the stable.
Four men.
Three horses.
One wagon.
They stopped in front of the building as though they expected everyone inside to hurry out and obey them.
The deputy shouted my name.
I stepped onto the porch.
"Afternoon."
He glared at me.
"Bring those women out."
I leaned against the doorframe.
"No."
The taller husband stepped forward.
He had a narrow face, thinning brown hair, and a neatly trimmed beard that made him look respectable until he opened his mouth.
"They belong with us."
I stared.
"People aren't cattle."
His face reddened.
"They're our wives."
"Then you ought to be ashamed of how you've treated them."
The shorter husband pushed past him.
He was broad through the shoulders, with a broken nose and the restless eyes of a man who had spent too much time expecting trouble.
"They owe us money."
I looked toward him.
"For what?"
"Their marriages."
"Then take your claim to a court."
The deputy laughed.
"We've already handled this."
I looked at him.
"Yes. I saw how."
His smile vanished.
The tall husband stepped closer.
"Mr. Draice, this is none of your concern."
I kept my voice calm.
"Those women say their children were taken."
The shorter husband went still.
The taller one's face hardened.
"Both children died."
"Where are they buried?"
Silence.
I repeated the question.
"Where?"
The shorter husband looked toward the deputy.
The deputy spoke sharply.
"Medical matters aren't your business."
I nodded.